


Devotion

by Miphan



Category: Black Clover - 田畠裕基 | Tabata Yuki
Genre: Gen, Manga Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-16 13:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14812011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miphan/pseuds/Miphan
Summary: As the mist fogging his thoughts dissipates, he can only describe the events of the day with one word.Disastrous.





	Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> *Contains spoilers for Chapter 142*

At first glance it is a plain looking painting. Just a sea of grass gaining orange hues from the setting sun. But if one looks closer he can make out a black silhouette in the distance with hands raised towards the sun. A fire Magic Knight. Or perhaps one gifted with rare light magic...

"He won't come."

Marx gives a questioning gaze to his senior. The elder advisor, a man who has seen many days in the palace, strokes his white beard with fingers marked from age as he contemplates his reaction. He opens his mouth to politely ask for clarification and shuts it back firmly as the elder continues his statement.

"Lord Julius. It's rare for him to attend such events." he says, waving his free hand in the direction of a set of double doors, heavily guarded and sparkling with gold. They look brand new and make an unfortunate contrast with the ancient walls flanking them.

Marx is standing in the beginning of the corridor leading to them. The clash of new and old is even greater from far away. One of the guards, probably the one in charge, keeps sending him cold glares every few minutes. He doesn't acknowledge his rude behavior. Before his official designation as an advisor earlier that day, he had been briefed on the apparent mistrust between the royal guards who serve the King and the Magic Knights who aid the Emperor.

As a magic user and an individual he is proud to belong to the second category. But then again, maybe he shouldn't be. He still can't get his head around the fact that the Magic Emperor rarely answers the summons from the King. The calm way the elder announces that reality is even more alarming. One would have thought that the relationship between the King and the Emperor being strained would be a situation to be concerned about. And yet the man beside him is still quietly stroking his beard, having a stare competition with the guards. Eventually all three of them avert their gaze, finally minding their own business. Marx feels like a crisis he hasn't noticed before has been averted. He turns to look at the older advisor, questions swimming in his eyes.

The elder beside him sighs. His shoulders tense as if he drew the short straw and landed with a troublesome job he doesn't want to do. Marx wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. But he is young and willing to be useful to the man protecting the kingdom. He wanted, needed to learn.

"I'll be honest with you, my boy. Lord Julius has the unfortunate habit of disappearing at random times. No one knows where he is going or what he is doing. From now on it will be your job to find him. Your communication magic will be perfect for that. Now, I'll go and face the King. You find our Emperor."

Without letting Marx say anything, the elder strolls away towards the throne room. The guards shoot him disapproving looks as he enters and Marx feels the need to get out of their sight before they turn on him. In the future, he will learn to ignore their judging eyes and they will learn not to provoke the Magic Emperor's advisor.

But for now, he makes a hasty retreat. The palace is a maze of corridors and doorways. He needs to study the maps in the library, to walk around, to know the place like the essence of his magic. A long staircase leads him to a florescent part of the royal gardens. The flowers are well kept and recently watered. They bring a relaxing scent in the air. It's calming and oddly pleasing. He sits on a nearby bench, somehow managing to contain a grunt as his tired bones protest with the sudden movement. It had been a long day of people showing him around the palace and briefing him on his role and duties.

There is a fountain in front of him. The water falls from its top gracefully, rhythmically. It brings a much needed clarity to his mind. He breaths in the fresh air of the royal gardens. As the mist fogging his thoughts dissipates, he can only describe the events of the day with one word.

Disastrous.

It took only one day for his image of the Magic Emperor to crumble. The strongest Magic Knight with an extremely rare type of magic. The man who everyone looks up to. The man who defeats enemies in a flash. With grey eyes shining without mercy.

The man who he is supposed to find without any clue whatsoever.

Marx sighs. When he applied as an advisor to the Magic Emperor, this wasn't what he had in mind. So much for his first day at work.

He gets up to search for him nonetheless. His grimoire opens in front of him and he activates the strongest spell he knows. He searches for hours until the sun gives its due to the moon.

In the end, he doesn't find him.

The Magic Emperor returns on his own, stray leaves tangled in his hair as if he had been walking through a forest. His council welcomes him back with reprimands that don't reach his ears. Marx doesn't say anything, but the feeling of satisfaction is great the first time he finds him.

After a few months the search becomes effortless. He never finds him with the first try, of course. But he gets better at predicting where the Magic Emperor heads off to each time. What he is doing is a matter that he cannot grasp. And then he starts blocking his magic.

So, Marx makes a point of complaining every time. Of course the Magic Emperor never listens. Always apologizes only to vanish again the next day. Like a child that cannot follow a set of simple rules. Or that doesn't want to.

Oftentimes, they have afternoon tea in one of the highest towers. Marx can never pass an opportunity for the beverage. Julius speaks a lot, mostly about magic. Marx listens, sips his tea and learns. Learns to read between the lines. The view from the balconies up there is breathtaking. The hills sparkle with hues of yellow, like mountains of gold waiting to be claimed by an adventurer. He is reminded of his mother's stories, of dragons that protected their treasures and burnt everyone who dared to approach their nest.

Even at those relaxed moments, Marx doesn't drop the titles. In whatever situation they are in Lord Julius is still Lord Julius. The Magic Emperor. The kingdom's pillar. The use of a wrong word can land you in trouble in the palace. Especially since they are people aching to push you into it. The Emperor is highly aware of the situation, so he allows his everyday associates to address him by fancy titles and respectful words even in the privacy of his chambers. Even walls can grow ears.

Marx approves of the decision and is the first lesson he teaches the newcomers in the palace. The habit grows on him and he downright despises it when people address the Emperor without respect. But at the end of the day titles and names don't matter. Marx doesn't need either of them to be aware of their friendship.

He doesn't know of an opponent strong enough to defeat him. Of course, there are people strong enough to succeed him, but defeat is another matter entirely.

That's why when the communication magic that links him to the Emperor cuts off abruptly, not in the normal fading way, he doesn't allow himself to be swallowed by panic. He responses calmly, quickly letting every Captain's headquarters know that their presence is needed. His hands are shaking even after he finishes his report.

Lord Julius shouldn't lose.

Even now that Marx sees it with his own eyes, he can't bring himself to believe it. His eyes are glued to the fallen man, on the expanding puddle of blood staining his robes... Everything is silent. After all this years he hates the silence.

And then the Black Bull's Captain's eyes are on him, fueled with a fury rarely seen. He shouts at him and he wakes from his stupor, cursing himself for losing his composure at such a critical moment. He rushes off immediately, his goal pushing his feet to go faster. He must summon the healers. Quickly. Quicker.

Lord Julius shouldn't die.

As his advisor, his associate, his _friend_ Marx won't let him.


End file.
